. . . at killing your body.
Holy shit, I'm exhausted. My friend Shevonne's two children, ages 4 and 2, are wonderful little bundles of joy. . . on paper. Put them in an amusement park-- like, say, this one in Wisconsin Dells-- and I got the best workout I've had in months. Between rickety wooden roller coasters, swooping waterslides, and stuttering go-karts, every bone in my body aches. Top that off with the fun of being a jungle gym for a couple of toddlers, and I'm praying for the sweet release that only the Corona in my hand right now can bring me.
I took plenty of pictures this weekend, so hang tight for them tomorrow afternoon. Suffice it to say, there are plenty of sights to see in America's Dairyland.
Okay, one story for the readers of Garfield Ridge above the age of seven: the folks in Wisconsin are among the nicest people you'll ever meet. Unfortunately, far too many of them are among the, well, most attractively-challenged people you will ever meet.
After the kids went to bed last night, I was eager to get out on the town. Single guy, redneck chicks, plenty of beer-- a recipe for fun in any book, right? My buddy A.J. and I bummed around the bars of the downtown Dells last night, and we saw some of the most frightening examples of humanity that one can see outside of an Osaka massage parlor.
First, we took a swig at Nig's.
Yes, there is a bar in Wisconsin Dells called "Nig's." Let's just say there's little political correctness in a town that makes half its cash off of American Indian trinkets and "Made in China" moccasins. Nig's is a big Harley bar, and the clientele last night ranged from "I own a bike" to "I will mother your baby if you own a bike."
Following our sociological experiment, we strolled down Broadway to my favorite Dells bar, the Showboat. It's very much a tourist dive filled with white-hat college guys and girls three tequila shots from showing you their goods. But the signature attraction at the Showboat is its karaoke stage, a place where I've warbled many an awful tune.
Alas, the place was packed last night, so A.J. and I just enjoyed the show from the relative safety of the crowd, he drinking a Corona, and me nursing a Hamm's (FYI-- Worst. Beer. Ever.). Some of the great songs we heard last night included: "Baby Got Back" sung by a white guy flanked by two women who indeed had back; a bachelorette party mangling Pat Benatar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot"; and my personal favorite, a comparatively attractive woman (I say "comparatively" given the weatherbeaten women in the crowd) suggestively rubbing herself as she sang The Divinyls classic "I Touch Myself (When I Think About You)".
The best part of her rendition? She sang it while looking straight at me in the crowd, making all sultry eyes as she massaged her naughty places. Unfortunately, she was looking right *past me* at her long-haired, heavily-tattooed boyfriend immediately behind me. Still, it was a fun little fantasy while it lasted.
Anyway, I have no real idea why I love that town so much. I mean, nostalgia is a big part of it-- I remember many a summer heading up from Chicago to the Dells for a weekend of waterslides and mini-golf. Plus it's great to see my friends, and I enjoy "renting" toddlers for a weekend of "Crazy Uncle Dave" entertainment.
But I think that it's that having a spell of good, clean goofy fun in dive bars far, FAR removed from the hustle and bustle of Washington, D.C. is good for the soul. It's the contrast that appeals to me the most. I've always been equally comfortable spending some serious money on a fancy evening out on the town, only to turn around the next day and enjoy a backyard kegger listening to hair metal.
Alas, Washington rarely lends itself to that casual fun that I recall from my childhood days on the South Side of Chicago, let alone the simple joys of cheesy rural American fun. I really don't want to come off as elitist here-- I'm most certainly not-- but there's a lot to be said for being able to enjoy the dumb and simple things in life as much as the complex and finer (and more expensive!) things in life.
Hell, at the very least, you get to have twice as much fun in life as the people who restrict themselves to one or the other, ya know?
Plane flight at dawn, photos tomorrow night. . .